People love to give advice to parents, even if it is misinformed parenting advice. Guest dad-blogger, David Vienna, offers defense for often given advice.
For anyone who may have missed it, I wrote a piece for how2beadad that encourages parents to act violently toward stupid assholes.
Haha. So true. It really only bothers me if they brag about it while giving me advice as if I haven’t tried every single thing I found online already. I’m fairly convinced good sleep has nothing to do with parenting skill and everything to do with the personality of said child.
Our boys are good sleepers and have been from a young age. But, we don’t mention it because, when we do, people want to slaughter us.
And yes, we had nothing to do with it.
I’m surprised to find one of my favorite baby names, Voltron, appears nowhere on this map.
I haven’t simultaneously laughed and nodded this much since I saw the last Tom Ford video.
This is the greatest thing EVER! Holy shit.
Bless me child for I have sinned. It’s been your lifetime since my last confession and I feel like I need to come clean. I have lied to you, stolen your property and coveted your dinner, as well as youth.
I am your father, but I haven’t always been a parent. I used to be just like you. I was an immature, unorganized mess of a human being skating on the edge of a downward spiral. But you made me. You made me a man who is responsible for another, and then three others.
There are four of you children and I confess that I am not always truthful about who I am and how I get by. There are things that I must do, discretion that I must make to get through my days as a parent. I will not share all my secrets, but I will shed some light on some of what you do not know.
So here are the first 25 confessions that come to mind.
- I had sex with your mother in your bedroom long before it was your bedroom, but the memory still lives there.
- I pop your balloons when you are at school.
- I throw away your drawings, but I have saved every birthday card you ever made for me.
- I am the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. However, Santa Claus is real.
- Calliou has always been our go-to babysitter when Mom and Dad need some adult alone time. Because of that Calliou’s theme song kind of turns me on.
I spend most mornings chasing after a 2-year old and most evenings trying my best to manage scores of employees and hundreds of patrons in a busy bar/restaurant.
This is part 1 of my thoughts and observations I’ve made of the similarities between the two:
- A lot of slurred speech and unintelligible conversation.
- There are constantly girls crying and no one knows why.
- I’m constantly telling someone to not stand on the furniture.
- Everybody just wants a bottle.
- No one knows who made the mess (See below). To Be Continued…..
Holy crap, this is so accurate.
BTW, bigeasydad works at a bar in New Orleans, so he deals with this shit 24-7.
What if Apple made baby products? Here are a few you might need AND LINE UP AROUND THE BLOCK FOR…
See more here: http://www.howtobeadad.com/2014/20917/apple-baby-products
I was combing through my old posts and came across this one (from May of 2010) that I’d completely forgotten about. Then, it all came flooding back. Ah, memories…
Yesterday at the park, Wyatt was doing his Frankenstein run around the equipment when he stumbled up to the son of that one actress who was on that one show… the names escape me right now. The actress said of Wyatt, “She’s beautiful.”
It’s because of his hair. It’s long enough to tuck behind his ears, but only if he stays still, which doesn’t even happen in his sleep. So, we’ve resorted to using a headband most of the time. As I said before, I wore a similar headband when I was in high school and I thought I was quite the trendsetter. I was the only one who thought this, but that’s neither here nor there. My wife still wants to let Wyatt’s hair grow a little more, but I’m starting to waiver.
I remember when I was a kid — older than Wyatt, mid-elementary school age — I simply didn’t get a haircut for a long time. I don’t know why. It just never came up. In my class photo, I looked like a badass ’70s kid. Too bad it was the ’80s.
My mother finally took me to get it chopped. When finished, the stylist looked at her creation in the mirror (a high, feathered affair), turned to my mom and said, “She’s going to be a beautiful woman.” My mom said, “It’s a boy.” The stylist burst out laughing and set about re-cutting my hair in a more masculine fashion. I’m still working through the issues born in me that day.
I guess I want to save Wyatt from any undue embarrassment, but I also know he’s at an age where you could pants him in public and he’d just do his Frankenstein run half-naked. He knows nothing of embarrassment. Or subtly, for that matter. But again, that’s neither here nor there.